Let's Make A Deal
by chkrmsrfun
Summary: What happens after Santana gets slushied. Brittany/Santana interaction along with how things are weeks later. A look inside Santana's head.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This idea has been floating around in my head for a while. It didn't go where I expected it to, but that's how it is. My interpretation of what happens after Santana gets slushied. Mostly angst. I left it sort of open-ended. Any thoughts on where you'd like to see this go are welcome! Enjoy :)**

* * *

Let's Make a Deal

It had been three weeks, and not a word had passed between them since the slushie incident. The whole ordeal had been mortifying enough, thought Santana; being creamed right in the face with the drink (something she was sure she would never have to worry about at McKinley). But what had happened after that was an entirely different—and just as embarrassing—matter.

* * *

_Still standing slack-jawed and shocked from the red ice sliding at a painfully slow pace down her face, Santana suddenly felt Brittany grab her wrist and lead her into the nearest restroom. Flashbacks to the month before started, when the blonde had done the same thing, only that time it had been to clean the dirt from their smudged faces after Sue declared war on them via their lockers._

_Now, however, Santana was the sole victim, and Brittany had witnessed every moment of it. It was horrifying for her; enough to keep her eyes from ever darting up to meet the blue pair watching her closely as she pulled her up to one of the sinks, leaning Santana against it, carefully pressing her back to the porcelain. Santana was grateful not to be facing the mirror. She didn't want to see herself like this. It was awful enough that Brittany could._

_She stared hard at her feet, not caring that the goopy gunk fell onto her new boots. So many thoughts coursed through her mind and seemed to fill her up as the faucet turned on behind her. How did everything come to this? She had had a boyfriend. She had been a cheerleader. She had been on top of the school, even over Quinn. She had had it all. Well—almost._

_Brittany grabbed a fistful of paper towels and ran them under the water. Then, she gently pressed two fingers from her free hand under Santana's chin, lifting her head up and forcing them to lock eyes._

_"Is this ok?" she asked._

_Santana felt tears swell up instantly. Why did she have to be so freakin' sweet all the time?_

_Not wanting to cry in front of her—not after everything—Santana whipped around to face the glass. Her reflection stared back. Dark eyes sat above remnants of red ice stuck to her cheeks slowly making their way down her face, leaving stains as they went. Glancing down again, she shook her head._

_"No," she murmured._

_Brittany stepped closer. "Santana," she said, barely above a whisper, reaching out towards her._

_"No," Santana said again, raising her voice. She spun around. "Britt, just…don't." Her voice broke and she winced at the sound of it. All she wanted to do was run. Run away so Brittany couldn't see her like this._

_But the blonde inched closer after a small hesitation. "I can help you," she said. "Please, Santana. I want to."_

_Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, Santana lifted her eyes to the ceiling, bringing her tears up and over their brim and quickly down her face. She felt them mingle with the cool ice that was now only a speckling of droplets; the rest of it lay scattered on her boots and the floor around them. Then, before she could protest again, Brittany reached up and wiped the slushie away and into her other hand. She pressed carefully to Santana's cheek, as if too much pressure might send a crack racing up through the skin and allow whatever Santana was keeping inside herself to pour out. And even though Brittany knew she would be able to handle that, she wasn't sure if Santana could._

_A second later, as if on cue, Santana shook her head again, then pushed off the sink and past Brittany._

_"I can't…" she breathed, a sob catching in her throat. _

_Brittany watched her go in the mirror as Santana, her face stained red, ran from the bathroom._

__

_

* * *

_

Now, almost a month later, Santana stood at her locker, losing herself in memories of the life she had had only six months before. Everything seemed so far away. Her social status. Cheerios. Brittany.

Brittany, most of all. Santana had thought that avoiding her like the plague after being slushied would have done the trick, but that had been in vain. And there were no boys now to lose herself to. Finn was a twit who only drooled over Rachel or Quinn, depending on the time of day. Puck had Lauren (which she still couldn't believe). And Sam had taken off after reading the rest of "Trouty Mouth."

So, she had opted to turn herself invisible. She came to school, went to class, was barely present for Glee, and then ran home as fast as she could.

Thus, when a rather large shadow suddenly appeared on the left side of her in the hallway between classes, she didn't even notice. It wasn't until a cascade of cologne invaded her nostrils that she realized some one was even there.

"Hey, sexy," a deep and vaguely familiar voice droned while a letterman jacket appeared. Santana raised an annoyed, albeit curious, eyebrow.

"Puck, I thought you'd—Oh. What do you want meathead?"

Karofsky was staring down at her, a grin on his freshly-shaven face. "I just came by to say hi," he said casually. "And to ask you why we have never really talked before. We were in the same league at one time, you know."

The pangs of not being a Cheerio hit her only for a moment before she regained her composure. Shutting her locker, she leaned against it, folding her arms over her chest.

"Funny. Aren't you supposed to be in jail, or something?"

"My suspensions over, remember?" he glared. "Guess my slushie didn't send as big a message as I hoped it would."

Swallowing hard at the memory, she narrowed her eyes to not let on how much that had, in fact, affected her. "Do you have a real reason for talking to me?" she sneered. "Because this is seriously turning into a waste of my time."

As she spoke, she suddenly spotted Artie round the corner down the hall. Brittany followed closely behind. He was talking about something and Santana could see that the blonde wore a half-interested expression on her face. She knew the Brittany's mind was elsewhere. Maybe, she hoped, it was thinking of her.

"I think we should talk," Karofsky said, pulling her attention back to him and away from the other end of the hallway. "We could make a deal."

Santana's eyes swept back to his. They were dark, she noticed, and had something starting up in them.

"A deal?" she asked. But her gaze wavered, and she once again looked over at Brittany. Artie was almost even with them now, still talking. Brittany had fallen a few steps behind, her binder clasped to her chest carefully.

Santana watched her. Then, Brittany glanced up and met Santana's eyes, locking themselves on the brunette's. Santana's breath caught sharply and she could feel Karofsky shift to look over his shoulder. Brittany, who had pulled even with them, smiled at her. Santana smiled back, feeling her cheeks flush.

When Brittany passed them a moment later, Santana cleared her throat and narrowed he eyes once more at Karofsky. He, however, continued to watch Brittany go until she had turned a corner and was out of sight. Then, grinning a bit wider, he looked back down at Santana.

"Yeah," he said, "a deal. You and I have something in common. And I know what could help put us both back at the top."

Santana tried to process what he was saying. What the hell did he mean, they had something in common? Sure, she had picked on Kurt a bit; but this thug in front of her was ten times worse than her in every category possible.

"I'm not sure if I follow you," she finally said, the lingering of Brittany's perfume making it difficult for her to concentrate.

"Here," he said, pulling out a torn piece of notebook paper. He handed it to her. She glanced down at it and found a phone number. "It's mine. I'll text you later."

Then he stalked off. Santana looked down again at the paper. She was overwhelmed. What had Karofsky been talking about? And what could he possibly have to make a deal with her? The slushie incident had been a random act, right? He couldn't know…

Then there was Brittany, she thought, shoving the paper into the backpack and slinging it over her shoulder. That was the closest they had come to each other in three weeks, and it had nearly taken Santana to the ground. God, she wondered, how was she going to make it the rest of the year?

Forcing herself to shake the weak feeling in her knees, Santana situated her backpack and started down the hall to her next class, not really sure what might happen next, especially with Karofsky. But even if she didn't know what was ahead for her, there was one thing she was certain of: Brittany had smiled at her. Nothing, she decided, could be better than that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Santana lay on her bed, one of her arms folded casually behind her head. She held the TV remote in her other hand, and she was clicking through the channels at a rapid-fire pace.

"Could you, maybe, pick something please?" a voice next to her said suddenly. She rolled her eyes and glanced over at Karofsky, who was sitting in her desk chair a good three feet away. She had almost managed to forget that he had been there for the past two hours.

"I can't find what I want," Santana grumbled, still clicking furiously through the images on her screen.

"Here," Karofsky said, leaning forward, "let me—

Santana snapped away from him, "No. I'll pick. House rules." She stared hard at the TV, attempting to lose herself in the channels.

Karofsky rolled the chair back a couple of inches, admitting defeat for the moment. Then he muttered something under his breath, prompting another eye roll from Santana.

"What is it now?" she sighed, still not looking at him.

"I, um, don't really think this is how boyfriend and girlfriend are supposed to act," he said. Santana was still a little surprised at how soft-spoken he was outside of school; she could practically eat him alive off campus.

"Well," she started, relishing her previous thought while eyeing a commercial for Victoria's Secret, "how would you know? It's not like you've ever been with a girl before. Actually, it's not like you have been with _anyone_ before. So, why don't you keep your trap shut and just sit there ok?"

Word vomit. It all spilled out before she could stop it. Maybe, she thought, that had been a bit harsh. She stole a glance over at him in time to see his face fall. Then his large hands fumbled into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. For a moment, Santana watched him type haphazardly over the keyboard before she adjusted her position on the bed and resumed channel surfing.

She still couldn't believe they were doing this. Staring at an ad for a new record store in Lima, she thought back to the week before, when her phone had vibrated at a red light on her way home from school. Eagerly snatching it up from the seat next to her in hopes that it was from Brittany, that hopeful feeling vanished when she saw the name: Karofsky. Opening the text with disdain, she read it.

_Hey. Meet me at the Lima Bean in an hour._

Tossing the phone back into the passenger seat, she let out a heavy sigh. What the hell did they have to talk about? Ever since their meeting in the hallway a few hours ago, Santana had spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what he could have possibly meant when he said that they had things in common. Besides the fact that they went to the same school, Santana hadn't been able to come up with anything. When the light turned green, she clenched the steering wheel and turned towards her neighborhood. As she rolled up to a stop sign, a pair of people on the sidewalk caught her eye.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she groaned. It was Artie in his wheelchair and behind him, Brittany. She was pushing him along; her blonde hair being flicked back by the wind as they walked towards what Santana could only assume was Artie's house. She knew Brittany's was in the opposite direction. She watched them while they walked, only twenty feet away. Brittany laughed at something Artie said. Heat rushed to Santana's face, and she dug her nails into the steering wheel to fight back tears.

A horn beeped suddenly behind her. Glancing up in the mirror, a blue Toyota was inching closer towards her. Then she looked back towards Brittany.

"Great," she muttered. The blonde had turned to see who had honked and was now looking right at Santana's car. Embarrassed and angry, Santana revved the engine and sped forward as quickly as she could. Her friend passed by in a flash while Santana never slowed down to look her way. Santana figured Brittany knew it was her. But she didn't care.

Less than a minute later she was parked in her driveway, forcing herself to take a breath and calm down. Blinking back the last of her tears, she reached over for her phone and opened a reply to Karofsky. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and she closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. When she did, blonde hair and a sweet smile appeared. Brittany giggled and leaned closer to her.

Santana's eyes shot open, and she looked around, hoping that Brittany was, in fact, right there. But the image faded after a moment and Santana frowned before finally typing a message.

_I'll see you there. This better be good._

Then she pressed send.

An hour later, Santana sat at one of the tables near the back of the shop in dark jeans and a grey, off the shoulder shirt. It was one of the many Brittany had left at her house weeks ago; before she stopped coming around. A faint scent of the blonde still clung to it.

Taking another sip from her coffee, Santana peered out the large windows to her right. Just as she did, she spotted Karofsky. He wore his letterman jacket, and she briefly wondered if he ever took the thing off. She watched him until he reached the door. Then she averted her eyes and took to scanning the people in the shop, faking interest. And once he was standing next to her table, she looked up at him in mock surprise.

"Oh, you're here."

He gave half a smile. "Yeah. Don't get up, please."

She leaned back in her seat. "I wasn't going to."

He shook his head and sat down, looking around. Santana couldn't help but notice how he suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

"Something wrong, meathead?" she asked, enjoying her apparent upper hand. "Missing your fellow goons?"

"I just…" he mumbled, leaning forward to lay his forearms on the table. "Let's just do this."

Santana was becoming more and more confused by the minute with Karofsky. He really wasn't all that intimidating, she decided, eyeing him as he sat awkwardly across from her like his chair was about to go up in flames.

"Ok," she finally said, sitting up a little straighter. "So, what is it you want to talk about?"

Karofsky stared hard at the table. "Well," he said, "remember when I said that you and I had something in common?"

Santana narrowed her eyes, still trying to take in this new side of the typical bully. "Yeah," she said. "That was a good one, I have to say. Stumped me."

Karofsky gave a small laugh. "You have always been pretty oblivious."

She leaned forward at the return of Karofsky's familiar insults. "Shut it, meathead," she managed to spit out, forcing herself to not jump across the table at him. She was not, in any way, oblivious. On the contrary, she was probably far too aware of her situation, and of the people in it. One person in particular made it impossible for her to be oblivious when she was around, actually.

"Well, anyway," Karofsky continued, "I guess I should explain what exactly I was referring to."

After another sip from her coffee, Santana said, "That would be nice."

She sat back and watched Karofsky once more, waiting for him to enlighten her. His brow furrowed in concentration. What could possibly be so difficult for him to say, she wondered. Then, just as she was about to give up on getting a reply, Karofsky took a deep breath and said, "I'm gay."

Santana's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," she said, leaning forward now to sit her arms on the table between them, "what did you say?"

Karofsky was smiling, almost in relief at having spoken at all. Then he licked his lips and said again, "I'm gay."

Santana stared, open-mouthed, at him. She couldn't be hearing this right. It just wasn't possible. He's Karofsky; a meathead. A goon. A bully…

"Not possible," she said, verbalizing her thoughts. "I don't believe you."

Karofsky, who for the past few moments seemed to have forgotten she was even there, finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Sure it's possible," he shrugged, his eyes unwavering on hers. "If the hot, popular cheerleader is gay, why not one of the football team's offensive tackle, too?"

Shooting back in her seat, Santana crossed her arms over her chest instinctively. "Wait a second. I'm not—

"Please," Karofsky said. "I've seen the way you are with her. You have been cheering for my team since 9th grade, after all."

Santana narrowed her eyes again at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, forcing her voice to remain even.

"Brittany," said Karofsky.

Santana bit her tongue suddenly and winced. She felt tears start up immediately. _Damnit_, she thought. _Why did he have to say it?_

"Brittany and I are just-

"Just friends," Karofsky said, his eyes still not leaving hers. "Sure. If that's what you want to believe." He took a breath and continued, "Santana, we've gone to the same school, walked the same halls, and shared the same field for over two years. You may think I'm this giant thug who can't count to ten with my shoes on, but I see things. I see you. And I've seen the way you are with her. You're different when you're with her. She lights you up." Santana sniffed and quickly wiped a stray tear as he went on. "You think you're tough shit. Everybody knows that. That's why you paired yourself with Puck when school started. But he's not for you and you know it. Just like I know you, or any other girl, aren't for me."

She was shocked. She kept wiping tears away as one after another ran down her face. Karofsky finally sat back in his chair and pulled out a pack of Kleenex.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "I brought these just in case." She grabbed the pack and pulled one out. "Honestly," he said, smiling a little, "I thought I would be the one to need it. I heard you had cried during a Glee performance once, but I thought it was just a rumor. Though, I always hoped you would have it in you."

Santana blew her nose and scrunched up the Kleenex in her fist. This was all so much. "So," she said slowly, "you've figured me out. Big deal." She shrugged. "That's no reason to be nice to me and tell me all of this crap. I don't need you. I have friends—

"No you don't," Karofsky said, shaking his head. "Quinn is only after one thing, and that's prom queen. Puck is with Lauren. And Brittany…" he trailed off.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Fine, ok, I don't have anybody. What are you anyway, some sort of Yoda-love guru? Should I get your hotline number for late night questions?"

Karofsky laughed and shook his head. "I'm just not as unaware as people think I am. And I know where you're coming from."

"Because you're gay," Santana said, letting the last word roam around in her mouth and dance across her tongue. It felt so strange to say.

Karofsky nodded. "Yeah. And, realizing that is not something that's come easy for me. Trust me," he said. "I hurt a lot of people."

"Like Kurt."

"Like Kurt," he said, "and I regret that. But what I did is done. I never want to do anything like that again. But, I need your help."

"My help?" Santana asked, trying to follow where this was going. "Haven't you been paying attention dude? I'm pretty helpless. I have no one. I'm all alone because I screwed up. I have nothing to offer."

Karofsky straightened in his seat. "Actually, there is one thing that both of us still have to offer at school."

Santana eyed him carefully, and then asked, "What?"

"Our status. Or, in your case, your former status as a Cheerio."

"What the hell are we supposed to do with those?"

"Use them. As a cover," he said.

Santana uncrossed her arms and leaned once again over the table. "No way," she said. "The reason I messed up in the first place is because I wasn't honest with myself. And I may not be ready still to admit who I am. But I can say that I love…who I love, ok?" she said, her breath coming in shaky rasps. "I'm not hiding under the enormous wing of some guy and pretending everything I've said and done is a lie. Not anymore."

Karofsky looked at her for a moment, his head slightly tilted. Then finally he said, "Fine. Good for you. You may not need the cover, but I do. You're a step a head of me, Santana. You're ok with it. I'm…I'm still struggling. So, just until prom, I think we should join forces."

She sniffled again and raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean like-

"Like a couple," Karofsky finished for her. "Just until prom."

This was becoming ridiculous, she thought. Not in a million years would she have ever paired herself up with this guy. And now, here he was, proposing they masquerade as a pair for what…insurance?

"This is unreal," she said. "Why should I do this? I don't have anything to hide. Not from her," she said, thinking back to Brittany. The image of her pushing Artie along the sidewalk filled her mind, and she shook it, trying to force the picture out. "I still can't believe she picked him," she murmured.

"Then this will help you get her back!" Karofsky said, suddenly eager. "Come on, Santana. Think about it. She sees you with somebody else…somebody not in Glee. She sees you with me. She'll come back."

Santana was still shaking her head in disbelief. "I don't know if it's that simple. But, maybe," she said. "It might work."

Karofsky smiled so wide then that Santana could barely recognize him. He clapped his hands together, drawing a few looks from people sitting nearby. "So, we have a deal?" he asked, sticking his hand out across the table.

Santana eyed it. What could it hurt, she thought. What if it did get Brittany back? What else was there to try, anyway? She'd confessed everything. So, she reached out carefully and grabbed his hand.

"Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to update! But I hope you enjoy! :)**

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Chapter Three

"Well, I think I'm gonna go."

Santana didn't even glance over at Karofsky after he spoke. "Fine by me," she said, staring mindlessly at the TV.

"Shouldn't you, I don't know, walk me downstairs or something?"

Santana laughed. "You are such a girl," she said, eyeing him in disbelief.

"Listen," Karofsky said, "I know I'm not you're favorite person. And I know I'm not the one you want up in your room with you right now. But I'm all you've got at the moment." Santana interjected an eye roll. "So, maybe you could _pretend_ to like me. Just for show."

Letting out a sigh, Santana clicked off the television.

"Thank you," said Karofsky.

"Whatever," Santana grumbled, pulling herself off the bed. "Let's just get this over with."

She waked across the room and pulled open the bedroom door. Karofsky walked through first, adjusting the shoulders on his letterman jacket as he went. They walked silently down the upstairs hallway. Santana kept her eyes on the carpet as they both trudged down the staircase. Then, once in the foyer, they turned to face each other, which forced Santana to finally look up. When she did, she found Karofsky wearing an expectant look. She returned it with one of her own, not wanting to drag out the charade.

Just then, a voice called out, "Oh, Dave. You're leaving already?"

Santana looked to her left. Her mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, dish in one hand, rag in the other. Her dark hair was sitting in piles atop her head, and, after what Santana assumed were hours of house work, a few strands had fallen down over equally dark eyes.

"Hey Mom," Santana said wearily.

"Hi sweetie," she replied in an overly cheerful tone. "Dave," she said, returning her attention to Karofsky, "You can't stay for dinner?"

Santana resisted the urge to grind her teeth and hoped Karofsky would do what she wanted. She turned her gaze back to him and stared hard.

"Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Lopez," he said, smiling wide and looking back over towards the kitchen. "But I should get going. Lots of homework to get to." As he spoke, Santana noticed her father walk up behind her mom. He stood a few feet away, and brought a small glass of scotch to his lips before taking a long drink from it, surveying the scene before him as he did so.

"Oh, alright," Mrs. Lopez chirped. "Maybe next time!" Then she looked them both over one last time before turning on her heel.

"God, so freakin' perfect," Santana groaned.

Karofsky chuckled. "She's nice."

"Sure," Santana replied. "She's not your mother." It was quiet for a moment, then Karofsky said, "Well, I'll see you later."

She shrugged. "Sure, at school, or something." He looked at her again expectantly, and moved just a little closer.

Catching on, Santana rolled her eyes once more and tried not to turn up her nose as they closed in on each other for a hug. His cologne invaded her nostrils and she struggled to wrap her arms around his linebacker build. The last person she had hugged before him had fit into her arms so perfectly; this just felt strange.

Thankfully, it was over in seconds and Santana opened the front door for him.

"See you," he called over his shoulder, strolling out in into the Lopez's front walk.

"Bye," Santana said, taking a deep breath once the door was closed.

A clinking sound caught her attention suddenly. Whipping around, she found her dad still standing in the kitchen doorway. The glass in his hand slowly lowered from his glistening lips and dark eyes watched her carefully, as if searching her for something.

"He's a nice boy, mija."

That was all he said. But she knew exactly what he meant. It wasn't the fact that Karofsky was a "nice boy." Because he wasn't. Not really. He was a bully. Everyone had heard about what happened to Kurt. And all of that had been because of Karofsky. Even if her parents had merely glossed over that bit of Lima, Ohio gossip, Santana was certain they hadn't forgotten Karofsky's actions.

No, she decided, it was simply the fact that Karofsky _was_ _a boy_. No boy had ever come through the Lopez house before to meet her parents. Not Sam. Not even Puck. Sure, they had messed around for years, but she had kept him far from her home. He was too much of a Lima Loser to bring around her family. Her family: the strict, Catholic, doctor-lead trio that kept bibles in the drawers of bedside tables. Her family—who kept a watchful eye on Santana and anyone else who passed though their home alongside their daughter. And the only person to have done that was Brittany. A girl.

Santana had kept her gaze on her father's as she processed all of this. If she had learned anything from him, it was to never back down. So it wasn't until he finally caved—taking one last gulp of his drink before returning to the other room—that she allowed herself to even blink.

As she walked back up the stairs, she wondered how much her parents had noticed over all these years. Had they been there, in that doorway, when she said goodbye to Brittany after a weekend spent locked up in Santana's room? Where they had hugged longer than friends should. Had they seen Santana bury her face in the nape of Brittany's neck, wanting nothing more than to disappear into it? Had they seen the remnants of the previous night's passion on Santana's own neck, or smelled the lingering floral fragrance on their daughter, something Santana never wore?

"God," she thought aloud. "What if they know?"

Running stressed fingers through her hair, Santana collapsed onto her bed. It was too much to think about. Glancing over at the calendar hanging on her wall, she silently counted the days.

"Two weeks until prom," she sighed. "I can do this."

She sat up to strip off the too-tight t-shirt she wore and tossed it into her closet. Then she grabbed for a soft, over-sized blue one lying at the foot of her bed.

As she pulled it over her head, she inhaled deeply. The lingering scent of Brittany filled her lungs. After kicking off her jeans, Santana sat back against her pillows, wrapping her arms around herself. She closed her eyes. If she squeezed them tight enough, maybe then she could see her. Maybe then her own arms would transform into those of her best friend. If she stared into the blackness of her eyelids until the colors that followed burst—maybe then she would be there, with her.

Just as Santana caught the faintest glimpse of blonde hair, her phone rang. Opening her eyes, she blinked several times before realizing what she had heard. Then, looking over at her bedside table, she found her phone vibrating atop her bedside table. The name of the screen flashed continuously: Brittany.

Santana snatched it up before another second passed.

"Hello?" she said, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Hi," said Brittany on the other end of the line.

"Oh, hey," Santana replied. _Oh, hey?_ she thought is disbelief. _Come on. She hasn't spoken to you in weeks. Say something cool. _"What's up?" Shaking her head at her inability to speak eloquently, she waited for a reply.

"Um…Charity's climbing on top of my bookshelf. So…she's up, I guess."

Santana had to laugh. No matter how daft or preposterous the comment, Brittany never ceased to make her smile. "Sorry, B. I meant, how are you?"

It was quiet for a moment, then Brittany said, "I'm ok."

Santana worked her brain as another silence passed between them. "Is everything alright?" she finally asked.

More silence.

"Brittany?" she asked, growing worried.

"Artie's allergic to cats."

Santana's eyebrows shot up. That wasn't quite what she was expecting.

"I'm sorry?" she said.

"Thanks, I guess," Brittany replied, misunderstanding. "So, he doesn't come around much anymore. And when he does he gets all red and puffy like a sunburned marshmellow because Charity doesn't leave my side lately. And she only hisses at him. The other day she almost scratched his eye after she hit his glasses off of his face."

Santana listened, smiling a little at the image.

"So, I really hate that Charity and Artie don't get along. Because…she loved you. Like, really loved you. And you always played with her."

Thinking back, Santana wasn't sure if saying "Go away Charity," and pushing her off the couch when she wanted to make out with Brittany constituted as playing, but she wasn't going to disagree right then.

"So Artie said he's not coming over anymore unless Charity is locked up when he's there," Brittany said, and Santana could hear the hurt in her voice. "But she doesn't even have a cage. I don't know what to do."

Santana wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and hug Brittany. "Well," she said, furrowing her brow, "maybe I could watch Charity the next time you want to spend time with Artie."

The words hit her like a truck. Had she really just suggested that?

"You would do that, San?" Brittany asked, also sounding surprised.

Santana closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. What the hell was she doing?

"Sure," she finally said through grit teeth. "Of course."

"Thank you!" Brittany all but shouted. "He wants to come over to watch Animal Planet Friday night. Could you maybe come over and pick Charity up before?"

Santana, scraping her hand down her face, perked up a little. "Come over? As in, go to your house?"

"Yeah," Brittany said.

"Ok," she replied. Then she remembered what the whole point of the past week was. "I do have a date with Dave that night," she lied. "But maybe I could swing by before then."

Silence. Then, Brittany said, "Dave?"

"Karofsky," Santana told her. "We've been going out."

"I didn't think that was true," Brittany said, suddenly subdued.

Santana shrugged. "Well, it is."

"Oh, ok. Well, I would still like you to come over and pick up Charity. I'll pack her favorite toys."

Santana smiled. "Great, I'll see you on Friday then."

"Awesome! Thanks again San! See you Friday."

Then the line cut off. Santana held it to her ear for a second, wondering if that conversation had really just happened. Well, she decided after a minute, two good things could be mined from that disaster of a talk. Brittany was hanging out with Artie less and less. And, she was going to see Brittany in two days. _Brittany_. She would deal with Karofsky and what she would say and do once she was at Brittany's later. For now, nothing made her happier than the fact that she would see her friend again.

Closing the phone and folding an arm underneath her head, she took a deep breath, still smiling.

She had to remember to thank Charity one day for this.


End file.
